


death as a blessing

by Anonymous



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Angst, Hurt/Comfort, I don't know why I wrote this, M/M, Mutual Non-Con, Underage Prostitution, but the rest is friendship feels, philza and techno have sex but no one is having fun, the first chapter is smut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-15
Updated: 2021-03-14
Packaged: 2021-03-23 01:40:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,549
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30047970
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: When Phil was dragged to a brothel by his troops, he didn't expect to walk back out with a half dead and abused POW under his wings. Still, he's not quite complaining.(endgame is platonic, and there's no romance involved, but there IS smut. tread lightly.)
Relationships: Technoblade & Phil Watson (Video Blogging RPF)
Comments: 8
Kudos: 38
Collections: anonymous





	death as a blessing

**Author's Note:**

> I, uhhh, hope someone likes this other than me. I have no idea how to tag this whatsoever, so if anyone has any ideas, I'd appreciate seeing them in the comment section. Personally, I feel bad clogging up RPF character tags with sexual content, but it's not going to be present beyond this first chapter, and the main overarching themes aren't romantic. Please leave and take care of yourself if you don't feel comfortable with that.
> 
> CWs for this chapter are in the end notes, because I feel like they spoil some of the plot. More general warnings are in the tags.
> 
> Oh, and. I think you all know the drill by now, but _please_ don't send this to the CCs themselves. I really doubt they want to know this exists, alright? Just use common sense.

Technoblade had fought for his life outside of his village, taking half a dozen men with him as he gasped through what he thought were his last breaths. He was small, slight. A child. When he was eventually run through and left to die, he didn’t look like a warrior, he looked like a plaything.

That was how the Antarctic Empire found him, and that was how they took him back with them.

-

Phil’s head was killing him. The noise and sound of sex drifted through the air, and from his place in the brothel’s queue, he could even make out words he didn’t want to listen to.

His men stood around, chatting idly and making dirty jokes. They were the only reason Phil was here, and he was trying his best to put up with it. Despite that, he was annoyed, and feeling rather ill. 

“Commander, you ready to get some action?” one of the new conscripts leered.

Phil held in a biting remark. “Not particularly.”

“You’re no fucking fun,” another soldier complained.

Phil unfocused his eyes, staring at the grey wallpaper that was plastered on the walls. If he ignored his surroundings enough everything would be fine. Phil thought about the new strategies he had been proposed a day previous - while air strikes would work, there weren’t nearly enough troops with elytra, let alone those thoroughly trained in it. Making a concentrated effort to go to the End and gather materials, though - that could not only make up the difference, but offer even more of an advantage if they managed to get dragon’s breath or shuklers as well as elytra. Another thing to think about once the fighting actually moved onto the battlefield was terrain. Phil needed to ask for access to more training grounds, or at least a trip outside the Antarctic sooner rather than later. Practice like that really paid off in the long run -

Phil’s head was shoved back in a fraction of a second and some sickly sweet substance was forced down his throat. _Fuck._ He immediately looked around for a threat, his wings arching, and he pulled his sword out in a fluid arc from where it was holstered at his hip. 

He knew who the culprit was, and right now, he was backing away with inhuman speed. It was one of the newest recruits, Edwyn, a kid who was a little too gullible for his own good. 

“Did you drug me,” Phil hissed dangerously.

“They - they made me do it,” Edwyn said, choking. “Please don’t kill me, sir.”

Phil narrowed his eyes and turned to the others.

The rest of the unit laughed it off. “It’s just an enhancement potion, commander.” “We know what you’re like.” “Let loose for once.”

Phil didn’t hate these people when he talked to them one on one… but god, when they weren’t in training together, they grated.

“If I was even a little more on edge, I would have killed you,” Phil said, soft but intense. “We are in a _war._ That was both inappropriate and dangerous.”

Edwyn nodded hurriedly, and the rest of the men followed suit but didn’t seem too apologetic. They went back to joking loudly within a few seconds (and, mostly about _him_ ). Phil would have to fix that later.

There were really only a few more people in front of them in the queue. Phil had been abruptly pushed back into reality, and now he registered that things were even louder. A guy was even banging on one of the doors, shouting about how it was his turn now. That was just... uncomfortable.

Actually a lot of things were getting uncomfortable. Heat was rushing to Phil’s groin, the potion already taking effect. His plans of politely sitting and waiting to get out of the building were getting washed down the drain and he really hadn’t prepared for this. His face reddened, and he tried not to react in any way.

One of his soldiers smiled wryly at Phil’s distressed expression, and in that moment he wanted nothing more than to slap them across the face. 

Phil could feel just how mentally altering the substance was, and it was only going to get worse. He was already desperately trying not to reach down and rut against his hand. This had to be fucking illegal, but, stars, he couldn’t cause a scene here. He couldn't. He was the Angel of Death, commander of armies, and this sort of thing wasn't allowed to happen to him.

He was... at the front of the line. When had that happened? His unit was mostly gone, and he was up next. That idea of release now sat in Phil’s mind like a light at the end of a tunnel, and he hated it.

A man in a familiar khaki uniform waved to him, and Phil walked over stiffly. “That room there,” the guard said, pointing. “If ya don’t mind men that is.”

Phil felt too overwhelmed to register that. He took a few careful steps forward… and then opened the door. The room was cramped. Small. Dirty. There was a white bed, tiny as something he’d find in the barracks, and a pink haired figure curled up under the sheets, hardly moving. 

Phil stumbled. He dropped his jacket to the ground and untied his yukata as quickly as possible. Things were starting to _hurt._ He was going to have a world of hell coming for his soldiers.

He stroked himself through his boxers, then discarded those too, already stifling a cry at the sensation. Phil felt untethered like this, a slave to his own body. He needed more friction.

Phil staggered onto the bed, and rutted into the cotton sheets. They were mercifully not stained by anyone else’s bodily fluids, and Phil registered that he should probably get a condom in order to keep them that way, but his mind wasn’t focused enough to go and find one. He found something nice and solid and warm to grind against through the thin blankets. Startlingly, it moved.

Phil looked up, and jumped. There was another person here, how did he forget that? They handed him an open condom, hiding their face behind a curtain of tangled pink hair.

He was… trying to have sex with their leg. That was fun. What had been _in_ that potion? Phil’s shock overrode the effects of the drug for a few good moments, enough for him to choke out a “sorry,” but then he was back to being stuck in a desperate haze of sexual desire and that coherency left as soon as it had arrived.

He started thrusting again, this time maneuvering himself overtop the other person, trying to use their thighs for that extra bit of tightness. Phil could feel himself getting close. His eyes fluttered shut and then he came, moaning. His dick spasmed and released its fluid, but the arousal wasn’t gone despite the new tiredness. No, of course it wasn’t, because this couldn’t be that easy.

Phil tried to ground himself, but fuck, his mind was still a mess. 

“Sorry,” he said. “Sorry.” With shaky hands, he pulled the condom off and tied it, there was a wastebasket right beside the bed. There were also more condoms on a little table above it. Phil took one out, opened it, and tried not to feel sick as he put it on. 

“I-” Phil started, but his cock was already getting hard, and his words were getting lost in the tide of desire. “I’ve-” _I’ve been drugged_ , he wanted to say. _I think I need medical attention._

He broke off into mumbled curses and wrapped his hands around his shaft. He needed more. Jerking himself off, Phil barely registered the person who was pushing their way towards him, clearly injured. They couldn’t get up from the bed without using their arms.

Phil’s chest panged with guilt, and he tried to clear his head. His hands slowed, but stopping completely was unbearable in his current state. “You’re hurt.”

They stiffened from where they were shimmying out of the covers. Well, he stiffened, really. He was naked, genitals so red and inflamed they looked almost bloody. A thin, half healed scar marked both of his thighs. Hamstringing.

“Really hurt,” Phil said, and that was when the pink haired man reached towards his erect dick with a blank expression.

Phil tried to lean away, he really did, but suddenly he wasn’t fast enough and his spine tingled with pleasure as he gasped. Just the barest touch from someone else had fucked him over. Phil was getting more and more convinced that this potion had been some sort of secret military experiment he’d stumbled into by accident.

Those were the last coherent thoughts Phil had before his bedmate collapsed forward. The friction and pressure that was generated from the brush against his crotch, accidental as it was, switched his brain off. He gasped. Phil’s cock felt even more tight, pleasure just generated with each beat of his heart, and he pushed himself onto the nearest living thing. The world seemed composed of static images. Legs, a pained face, reddened scars and bruises. Those weren’t Phil’s. He thrust himself into something warm and pliable and moaned like he’d never learnt to speak. At that point, he didn’t remember how.

Phil came quickly, or slowly, it was hard to tell. It was a tide made up of both stress and contentment. Either way, he felt a little more coherent then before due to the sheer exhaustion it left behind. 

He registered his position with a feeling of dread. He’d just had sex with someone he hadn’t even _talked_ to, someone who’d looked half dead. He was still having sex with them, wasn’t he? Phil’s breathing quickened, but he could already feel himself getting lost under another cloud of lust. He tried to push himself off the other man, but there was no use in the end - it just gave him another stimulus. His dick plumped up for a third time, unnaturally quick. Phil was going to be sick.

His body moved without a driving force of intent, just a puppet to the whims of his drugged mind. Things were oddly dissonant for a moment, and Phil was a conscious prisoner watching someone else pull his strings. His body went forwards and back, forwards and back, fucking long and careless without a bit of caution. His eyes stung.

That was when the feelings turned into something a lot more like impressions, and Phil’s processing abilities finally clicked off. Excitement, pain, desire - release. He came back to himself even more pathetic, more tired, and utterly disgusted. Was anything different, or was he going to be stuck like this for hours? 

He tilted over to lie on the mattress, side to the sheets. That way he could get out of this position once and for all. Phil grabbed the base of his cock with unsteady hands, and before anything else could come up, slid it out of the pink haired man’s loose hole. 

He leaned over the side of the bed, head spinning, and threw up. His eyes were teary and it blurred his vision, but he still tried desperately to adjust himself. His hair stuck to his now-feverish skin like a layer of glue, and his body was cramped, aching.

Phil peeled plastic off of his dick, and his breath caught. That was definitely blood. That was definitely, definitely blood. He spun around to look at his bedmate, because he remembered something terrible. How _hurt_ the man was. He had collapsed back in bed like a broken doll, all thin limbs and bruises.

“Are-” Phil cut himself off. What could he even _say?_ There was no making up for this, and Phil was still out of it. His head, his muscles, were both aching, and worse, he could feel a stirring in his groin again.

Phil ended up leaning closer, being careful not to be noisy. He brushed pink hair off the man’s forehead, and, well, things were worse than he’d thought. His face was slack, with little scars flecking the corners of his features like paint. There were cuts and bruises on his lip, over an eye, across his cheeks. His body looked wrecked. A white line of scar tissue stood out on his thighs, hamstringing, and it must have been intentional with how clean the cut was. Worst off were his nipples, his ass, his cock. They’d been more or less destroyed by the other people who’d used this… this service.

_This service._ It was all provided by the military, the fucking military. How… how could they? Phil’s breathing sped up, and he saw red. His own people had caused something like this to become possible.

He searched for his sandals, his yukata, and slipped them on over the mess he’d managed to make of himself. Really, he wasn’t feeling good yet, not at all, but some things had to be sacrificed for basic human decency. Phil then spread his coat over an empty side of the bed, and then put a hand on its occupants shoulder.

“Hey,” he said, not unkindly. The man flinched. “Hey, I’m not… I’m not gonna hurt ya.” That probably wasn’t convincing in the slightest. “Listen, can you shift over a bit? Onto my jacket, that’s all, so I can pick you up.”

What he got in return wasn’t promising. The man lowered his eyes in deference once he saw Phil’s military coat, and he was careful about keeping his breathing even, though it still stuttered. He was clearly trying to sit up at attention, but only made it halfway before his arms trembled.

Phil put hands under his back before he could fall. “Hey, hey mate, don’t push yourself.”

This just made the man look even more pale. “Wha -” he coughed, his words raw. 

“What am I doing?” Phil huffed. “I’m getting you out of here.”

Phil only got an unimpressed look in response to that. “R-really? The sex that good?” he said blankly, and immediately looked like he regretted it. His voice was shaky, exhausted, but surprisingly monotone. “I don't think this is allowed.”

Anger burned in Phil’s veins again. “They’re gonna make it allowed,” he promised. “And, I’m not, I’m not….” Fuck, there was no defending himself, was there. Citing _extenuating circumstances_ as the reason for his actions and expecting trust would be messed up.

The man’s eyes held carefully controlled terror. 

Phil winced. He could explain later, they could work this out. For now, he had to make a bit of a scene. 

Phil slipped a hand under the pink-haired man’s torso, and lifted him up with ease. Vertebrae shifted under his fingers, but he had gone perfectly still and limp, lighter than he should have been. Wrapping the coat around him was a little harder, but Phil wasn’t in the military for nothing. At the very least it had gifted him some decent hand eye coordination skills.

He stumbled to the door, and opened it with a mild struggle. Then, Phil stepped into the hall. He materialised his wings out of the void, and they flared up in a show of power. 

“Who,” Phil intoned, “runs this place?” There would be a reckoning tonight.

**Author's Note:**

> CWs: Phil rapes Techno (because he's been drugged). Implications of torture/long term sexual abuse. ~~Soldiers acting like frat boys~~. Militarism.


End file.
